Where the Rock Meets the Sea
by TheCrimsonAuthoress
Summary: Jaime Lannister has finally left King's Landing, and his sister, behind. There is only one place he can turn to now, and as the North prepares for war, Jaime must discover where his true loyalties lie. All he knows is that the voice pushing him to do the right thing sounds an awful lot like Brienne of Tarth's...begins after Season 7 finale, Braime-centric, will be multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Game of Thrones in any way, although I wish I owned the good ship Braime. I can't wait to see what happens in season 8, but until then, we can imagine.

 **Rating** : M for coarse language and reference to adult themes

* * *

 **~Chapter One~**

Jaime Lannister gazed through eyes that were slits, trying to see through the white swirl of fog and snow that battered his body and froze his face. Gods, he'd never known it could be so cold. Every injury he'd ever sustained, every tiny creak in his aging bones was magnified with each drop in temperature. He'd been convinced that he'd never make it to his destination before his flesh seized up and he became one with the frozen North. As it was, he could barely move his limbs enough to urge the horse to keep going. The beast had to be as miserable as he. But there was light at the end of their tunnel: a flickering, golden firelight that shone high upon the battlements of a keep that had once housed an ancient Westerosi family. But Starks were few these days.

Spurring his horse's flanks, he trekked the last hundred yards to the gates of Winterfell.

Man and beast almost ran head-on into the gate before Jaime could see it. The guards on either side called for him to halt. He didn't hear them over the wind, but he'd spent his lifetime in castles. He knew the protocols. Add that he was dressed like a common beggar to the fact that he was a stranger in these parts, and he could hardly blame them for pointing their halberds in his face.

Raising his hand in a gesture of salutation, as well as to prevent those halberds from poking his eyes out, Jaime dismounted.

"What is your business here?" the first guard shouted at him.

"Ser Jaime Lannister— I'm here to see the queen."

He knew he was expected, but not for another week at least. That's how long it took to muster an army as large as the Lannister forces. If they had been coming.

He sighed and hoped the guards would assume that he rode ahead of his fleet. They apparently did, for he was admitted, and the gates swung wide to receive him.

It was still colder than a crypt inside the courtyard, but at least the wind howled less fiercely. Everywhere he looked, he saw preparations being made— swords sharpened and re-forged, armor being pounded out, horses fed and watered, sacks of grain carried to the storerooms. The North knew well the harbingers of war.

A Stark bannerman strode up to him as a page came to care for his horse. "This way, Ser Jaime." Jaime followed him across the yard and into the sturdy hall of Winterfell. "I must say we didn't expect you quite so soon."

"Yes, well here I am." Jaime didn't feel like going into details. He'd have them dragged out of him soon enough.

"Would you like to rest before speaking with the queen, my lord?"

The thought of food was tempting, but the pit in his stomach at the news he brought made it seem more likely that any sustenance he downed would likely come back up.

"No, I should see her straightaway."

"Very well."

The man led him through a warren of corridors into a room he recognized— the main hall of Winterfell. It had been years since he'd been here. His mind wandered back to that time. They had all been together then, he, Cersei, and Tyrion. They'd laughed and joked with Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. His children. His stomach jolted violently. All dead. He and Cersei had made love in the tower that he could just see outside the snow-covered window. His stomach plummeted. He barely heard his companion as he took his leave.

Shaking from the inner cold as much as the outer, he turned towards the roaring fire at the opposite end of the hall. His dark recollections of happier times had barely begun to settle on his mind when the door was flung open, and the dragon queen herself walked in, flanked by the Snow bastard and a host of others. Most he did not recognize, but some— including a strikingly tall, dour-faced, white-blond warrior woman, whose gaze made his stomach jolt once more— he did. Behind Brienne came Tyrion. He would have laughed at the sight of them together, the hulking maid and the diminutive advisor— probably the only two people in the world now whom he could call friends— if the situation hadn't been so dire.

The dragon queen seated herself at the center of the head table, Snow on her right and Tyrion on her left, while other advisors seated themselves around them. Brienne took up a post near the door. He watched her settle into a guarded stance, feet braced and arms behind her back. He knew, though, the rapidity with which those hands could draw the sword at her side, the sword he had given her, the sword she had named after him, called Oathkeeper. He gazed at her, but she stared determinedly in front of her, impassive, revealing nothing.

Then the foreign queen spoke, and he turned his head.

"So, the Lannisters do indeed pay their debts. I'll admit I am surprised to see you here so soon Ser Jaime. We did not expect the Lannister forces for another week, at least. I trust your journey was not troublesome?"

"My journey was fine, your Grace," he began in the smooth voice which he always adopted in matters of diplomacy. "You will find, however, that the forces you expected are significantly reduced in number."

She was silent for a beat, and the expression on her face showed that she had expected something of this nature.

"I see," she said, her voice taking on an edge. "And just what is your definition of 'significantly reduced'? How many men can we expect?"

He paused, glancing at Tyrion before dropping the hammer blow.

"One."

There was utter silence. He could have cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Her eyebrow raised imperiously. "One," she repeated.

His silence confirmed the assertion.

She looked to her left, but Tyrion seemed unsurprised by this news. She then turned to the right, to the bastard, whose face showed undisguised alarm.

"What do you mean, Ser Jaime?" the dark-haired man asked.

He was quickly becoming bored. Why could they not comprehend the situation? "I mean that the only person who has come to help the North is myself. You can expect no aid from my sister. She lied to you at the dragon arena. She never intended to help at all." He did not let them see how much it cost him to speak these words aloud. But Tyrion knew, and he avoided his brother's probing gaze.

There was silence once more. It seemed as if they were too stunned by this treachery to muster coherent thoughts. He knew the feeling well. In a moment, the queen spoke again.

"So, you are telling me that we must face the army of the undead alone, with numbers that, even were they bolstered by the southern forces, would never be enough?"

"It appears so."

"You have come all this way to tell us that we are doomed?"

"I have come all this way to keep my word, even if my sister will not." He chanced another glance at Brienne, glad that she at least would know his words rang true. Still she did not look at him, but he thought he saw a small smile curve the corner of her mouth, and he could almost say that the journey had been worth it for that.

"And why should I believe you?" His gaze snapped back to the Targaryen girl, on his guard once more. Her voice was rising, its edge transforming into full-blown contempt. "Why should I trust the word of a Lannister, the word of the _Kingslayer_?" She spat it with horrible emphasis. Tyrion seemed on the verge of speaking, but had not uttered more than "Your Grace—" before her next words drowned him out. "Are you not the same man who stabbed my father in the back when you were supposed to be guarding him during the usurper Robert Baratheon's rebellion? Are you not the same man who charged at me full-tilt in the Battle of the Loot Train, a spear in your hand, ready to gut me?"

At these words, Jon Snow and a few of the others stood up, glaring daggers at him, hands reaching for their weapons.

Before they could take a single step toward him, however, he sensed a movement to his left, and, unbelievably, saw Brienne stride across the room to put herself between him and the queen.

"Please, your Grace," she stated in a cool voice. "I can vouch for Ser Jaime's character. Whatever mistakes he has made, whatever debts of honor he has accrued, they are in the past. Ser Jaime is a noble knight, and a man of his word. I give you mine on that score."

Jaime didn't think he'd ever been more humbled in his life. He wished she would turn to look at him, but her eyes were still on the queen. Daenerys looked stone-faced, but was silent, seeming to think over Brienne's words.

Finally, she spoke. "I do not want to waste my time and energy on a fight that in the end will mean nothing if we do not focus on the larger picture at hand. For now, I will trust you Ser Jaime. If not on your own merits, then on the word of my Hand—" she tilted her head in Tyrion's direction— "And upon Lady Brienne's. I have never met her like before."

"Indeed, Your Grace, there are no women like her. Only her."

Jaime could imagine the blush suffusing Brienne's face upon hearing such compliments to herself, and indeed he saw it a moment later when she had bowed to the queen and once again took up her post by the door. He wished he could speak _to_ her instead of about her, but he was sure they were both thinking of his words from long ago: _There are no men like me. Only me._ How that argument seemed decades from where they stood now.

"I come here with no ill will Your Grace," he began again. "Once I learned that Cersei did not intend to keep her word, I could no longer turn a blind eye to her willful ignorance." He looked at Brienne when he uttered his next words. "I have left her."

As he'd hoped they would, the words seemed to startle her out of her dutiful mask, and she met his gaze for the first time since entering the room.

Jon Snow's voice issued forth, forcing Jaime to break his connection with Brienne. "Does this mean, Ser Jaime, that you are ready to pledge your loyalty to the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?"

All eyes were upon him. He had expected something of this nature on his journey up here, and hadn't known how he would respond. All his life he'd been loyal to one person only. She had been his north star, his moral compass, his guide, his anchor. He could lie, murder, cheat, and break his oaths, if it meant that she would be safe. All sense of right and wrong had begun and ended with her. And now he had let her go. He was a man of his word now, and by the gods he would not stain his honor, whatever remained of it, by making a false promise. He felt the stirrings of his own conscience inside him, the voice that knew what the right path was, the voice he had silenced for so long, because every impulse he'd ever acted on was wrong, and he knew it. Slowly, that voice rose within him, and he let it have free rein over his heart and mind. He listened to himself for the first time in a long time, and heard what his honor demanded.

"I will swear my loyalty," he said in a confident, ringing voice, "to whomever Brienne of Tarth has pledged hers."

This was definitely an answer that no one had anticipated. The silence seemed to question him, to ask for justification. He turned his gaze to her, and found her staring at him. He had a feeling her mouth had gaped open at his words, and she had just now closed it.

"I hope the person she has chosen to follow knows that they probably do not deserve her."

Brienne looked, if possible, even more embarrassed at this.

"The Lady Brienne of Tarth has sworn her sword to Queen Daenerys," said Jon Snow. Jaime had not taken his eyes off of her. She nodded, and this was all he needed.

"Then I, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, do pledge my sword and my service to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Thank you for reading! Now that Jaime's finally gotten his royal butt up to the North, what will befall him? Stay tuned...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Game of Thrones in any way, although I wish I owned the good ship Braime.

 **Rating** : M for coarse language and reference to adult themes

 **Author's Note** : Thank you so much for following my story! And shout out to DanyelN for the review, thank you! I adore Jaime and Brienne, their relationship is not one we see on screen very often in shows or movies. I'm glad you're all liking it so far.

* * *

 **~Chapter Two~**

After his declaration, the tension had lessened, if not entirely dissipated. The dragon queen and her advisors began a discussion about tactics. How on earth would they face the threat from beyond the wall without the southern forces? To whom could they turn, who had not already been applied to? What chance did they stand? But stand they must.

Jaime was dead on his feet. He regretted now that he had passed up the chance to rest before speaking his piece. Just as he wondered how much longer his presence would be needed (for no one seemed to feel the need to consult him now that they knew his contribution was a one-handed man who could barely fight for his own life) he saw his brother break free of the throng of advisors and approach him.

"You look as if you will fall over at the touch of a feather."

"It's nice to see you too little brother."

There was a pause. "I suppose our sister does not yet know that you left King's Landing?"

Jaime's tone became dark. "You suppose incorrectly."

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up into his hair line. "She let you leave?"

Jaime turned a glare on him that almost made Tyrion step back a pace. "I make my own decisions."

"Clearly." They stood in silence for another moment. Tyrion seemed on the verge of continuing his inquiry, but then thought better of it. "You should get some rest brother. I'll show you to your chambers."

"Won't the queen miss your guiding Hand?"

Tyrion looked back over his shoulder briefly. The queen was listening to something the bastard was saying. "To be honest I'm not sure my advice is foremost in her mind these days." He sighed.

"You should get back up there. The Seven know we need someone with a clear head guiding us, and to my eye yours is the best one we've got."

"But who will escort you?"

Jaime smiled and looked into the corner where Brienne still stood, ever on duty. "Oh, I'll figure out something."

Tyrion followed his gaze, shook his head uncomprehendingly at the seeming friendship between his brother and the Maid of Tarth, and walked back to the high table.

Jaime approached Brienne and was glad when she finally turned to face him properly. He stood silently in front of her for a moment, taking in the sight of her, remembering that the last time he had done so, Cersei's eyes had been upon him the whole time. He was finally free of those eyes.

Brienne still seemed flustered by the night's events, but greeted him with her usual, "Ser Jaime."

"Lady Brienne."

They stood a moment longer, their words held back. It seemed that a gaze said enough. But Jaime wanted to hear her speak.

"I'm glad to see you."

She seemed to remember those words from the dragon pit, as he did. How different they sounded now, without the weight of bitterness.

"I'm glad to see that you have kept your word." She gave him a small smile.

There it was— she was indeed proud of him, and the thought was wonderful. It almost made him answer her smile. But old habits die hard. The bitterness encroached once more.

"Yes, I kept my word," he said in a low voice, his brows furrowed. "And now the North doesn't even have one more skilled warrior to help defend it, just a weak old cripple who will prove a liability; a man who is already mistrusted because he murdered the father of the woman to whom he has now pledged his sword."

She had let him rant, but now the tone of her voice made him look up at her.

"Yes, you kept your word. And that is worth more than if you had stayed in King's Landing with your entire army at your back."

"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And you do too, or that is where you would be now, isn't it?"

It was true. He searched for a change of subject.

"Well, what does a man have to do to get some food in his stomach and warmth in his bones?"

"There is a room that is being used as a refectory down the hall. I can find a servant to show you."

"I'd rather you showed me."

"I cannot leave my post, Ser Jaime."

"Oh come on, they're all squabbling like children, they won't reach any important decisions tonight. Not with what we all know is coming. Or _not_ coming, as the case may be."

Still, Brienne looked up at the high table. At that moment Tyrion, who had been watching them out of the corner of his eye, said "Lady Brienne, would you be so kind as to show my brother where he can get some food and rest? He looks worse than the creature that came out of that box in the pit."

She bowed to him, and strode from the room, Jaime in pursuit.

* * *

They were silent as they traipsed down the corridor, the only sound the clink of her armor as she walked. He wore no armor, just a traveler's cloak and a leather jerkin, his soft boots hitting the stones soundlessly.

Her mind was still reeling. She had not expected to see him after their party had left the dragon pit. Their brief words had rung in her ears, and she had tried not to let the others see just how much his statement had hurt her.

 _This goes beyond houses and honor and oaths. Talk to the queen._

 _And tell her what?_

He had turned his back on her, following the woman he would always follow, a moth to a sickly bright flame. She knew, had seen herself, the man that he was beneath his surname. She knew that _he_ knew what honor was, what right and wrong were, and what, in the end, made a knight hold his (or her) head up high. Why was he still denying who he really was, who he could be, if only he would let himself listen?

And then, they had come back. Cersei had said that they would fight the northern threat alongside Queen Daenerys, that a truce would hold until the white walkers were no more. And Brienne's chest had swelled with pride, because he had listened to her after all.

He was supposed to come north in just over a week's time, with the full strength of his army. All of their plans had hinged upon the extra support. Even with it, their chances were slim.

And now here he was, by himself, keeping his word at the expense of everything he had fought so hard for.

Because now he had something new to fight for. What that was, she couldn't say. She was still trying to hold her emotions in check and not think about the kind things he had said about her to the queen. She was definitely _not_ thinking about the expression on his face when he had looked her in the eye and said that he had left Cersei for good. No, she had much more important things to worry about than the fact that Jaime Lannister had ridden 600 leagues in the fierce winter to do the right thing. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she didn't realize he was speaking to her until he grabbed her arm and made her stop in her tracks.

"Have you heard anything I've said?"

Her expression must have shown that she hadn't taken in a word.

"I asked why you had pledged your sword to the Targaryen girl."

"Queen Daenerys," she corrected him.

"Yes, her. Since I've also sworn to serve her, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what kind of ruler she is?"

Brienne looked at him and levelled a question of her own. "While we're on the subject, do you mind telling me why you chose to pledge your loyalty to her simply because I did? What on earth were you thinking, saying those things?"

"Oh, you mean the nice things about how you're the best knight I've ever known?"

"Don't patronize me!"

"You're the only woman I know who takes a compliment as an insult! How do you not see that you're better than me, that you're everything I'm not?" He froze. It seemed he had surprised himself with the admission. _Her, better than a Lannister? Her, better than the famed Kingslayer? Her, better than the knight before her who had cast off the love of the only woman he cared for because he knew she was wrong?_ But perhaps he, like she, was tired of dancing around words. In the face of such dangers as they knew were coming, it was easier to sift through what was important, and what was not. Under other, less-dire circumstances she would have been embarrassed and tongue-tied. He had never spoken to her with such frankness. But it was just the two of them in the corridor, and she was tired of his self-deprecation. She could feel the same anger she had had in the pit bubbling up inside her again.

"Jaime Lannister, stop your bloody whining! Why can't you see that you should be proud of the man you really are, instead of holding onto the man your wicked sister wanted you to be? You've got more honor without that hand than you ever had with it!" The hand that he had lost because of her.

Her speech seemed to have shocked them both again, and they stood in the firelit corridor, eyes sparking with anger, listening to the sounds of distant movements and trying to figure out why they had each said so much. When the silence became too uncomfortable, Brienne turned and continued walking. Trying to master her own voice, and pretend like the last minute had not happened, she continued. Talking about facts was much safer than wandering into the realm of emotion.

"Lady Sansa has been in charge of Winterfell ever since her brother went to King's Landing. Upon his return, the King in the North announced that he had pledged his sword to Queen Daenerys, and all who follow him have done the same."

Jaime snorted. "Sounds like a lot of oath-taking for someone who told me to _fuck loyalty_."

She almost laughed. How could he make her want to scream one minute, and smile the next? She quickly arranged her face in a serious expression.

"My pledge was no mere formality. I'm simply telling you what's happened. Since then, I've gotten to talk with the queen. She's had me attend several counsel meetings. She values your brother's advice, as well as that of Sansa's brother. She's strong, but not unreasonable. She listens to counsel while following her own convictions. If we all make it out of this fight, she will make a good queen, the kind of queen I want to follow."

A silence followed her words. She was ahead of him slightly, so she couldn't see the expression on his face, but somehow, she thought that he was thinking over her words. His brow would be furrowed, his lips drawn down into a contemplative crescent, his fingers tapping the hilt of his sword….

Mentally shaking herself, she realized that they had reached the refectory. Here and there the odd squire or group of attendants were gathered, breaking bread in between guard duty, gathering provisions, and generally preparing for imminent attack. Now that she thought of it, she hadn't eaten since that morning. There was always something more important to do, but a good warrior kept her strength up.

She and Jaime sat at one end of a long plank table. As they sat, she noticed that several pairs of eyes swiveled in their direction. The gazes were not friendly. She could just imagine the whispers as they turned back to each other.

Jaime clearly sensed the same. He looked up at her from under his brows.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

Ordinarily she would have remained silent, but the small hint of hurt on his face made her want to reassure him. He had, she reminded herself, just traveled hundreds of leagues; not to mention turned his back on everything he had thought he wanted. She adopted an impatient tone.

"Really Ser Jaime, you act as if I am a stranger to the gossip of men I could easily knock into the dust."

It worked, and he smiled.

A Stark page came down the aisle then to bring them bread and mugs of ale. They took them gladly and ate in silence for a time. It was companionable, and made Brienne think of all the time they had spent together on dusty roads and under the shelter of the trees on their way to King's Landing, on Catelyn Stark's orders. Those times, so frustrating at first, now brought a smile to her lips.

"What's so funny?" She hadn't realized Jaime had been watching her.

"Nothing," she said quickly, cursing the blush she knew was spreading over her face.

He opened his mouth, presumably to continue his badgering, when his gaze flickered to a Stark bannerman who had come to stand beside them.

"Well, well," he growled. "Never thought we'd see the Kingslayer back in the North. What's the matter, your sister get tired of fucking you? Sent you up here to freeze your balls off instead?"

Jaime looked up at him coolly. "I don't have time to waste on rats like you."

The man did not take the hint evident in Jaime's tone. "Oh, you think your gold and your title and your fancy sword make you such a big man. But you're no better than the rest of us. I bet you can't even hold that fancy sword with that gold hand of yours, you washed-up cripple."

Jaime opened his mouth, but Brienne spoke first.

"There's no need for language like that sir." The man turned to look at her. "You are addressing Ser Jaime Lannister, a knight of the realm, and you will treat him with respect."

The man laughed and turned to Jaime once more. "I had no idea this ugly beast was the Kingslayer's whore."

In one moment, Jaime was on his feet and had the man by the scruff of his collar, his golden hand raised to strike the man's flabby face. The man clawed at Jaime's left hand around his throat, to no avail.

"You are addressing the Lady Brienne of House Tarth," he hissed through his teeth. "You will never speak to her in that manner again unless you want my face to be the last thing you ever see on this earth. I don't just kill kings. Gutter rats bleed just as well, and just as long." He took a long look at the man before shoving him forcibly away.

Jaime looked to Brienne, and they walked out of the hall together, aware that all eyes were upon them.

* * *

They remained silent as they walked the candlelit corridor. They could still hear preparations being made in the courtyard, the footsteps of servants going up and down the halls, the sound of armor ringing and boots upon cobblestones. Jaime finally realized, after ten minutes of wandering through the castle, that he hadn't the faintest notion of where he was. He voiced as much to his silent companion.

"I have no idea where the hell I'm going."

Brienne's voice replied behind him. "Guest quarters are upstairs. Follow me." She turned towards another hall, and he pursued.

"So you were just following me as I walked around the halls like a lunatic?"

"You seemed angry. For all I knew, I needed to stop you from doing something stupid," she huffed.

"Why is it that every time I defend your honor, you get angry at me?"

"Not every time. Just when there is no need."

He sighed. He was too tired to make a fight of it.

They ascended the main stair and wound their way through the corridors until they reached a hall of plain wooden doors. She opened one, poked her head in, and said "It looks like this one is free. Did you bring anything with you?"

"Just a bedroll with a few things stashed inside. It was tied to the saddle."

She nodded. "I'll have Podrick fetch it and start a fire for you."

"Thank you." They stood in the hall for a moment. It had been a strange night. Jaime was more tired than he'd ever been in his life. So much had happened but his mind was starting to slow down with the weight of it all.

"Well, goodnight," he said wearily.

"Goodnight." He turned to open the door, but her voice stopped him.

"One last thing Ser Jaime." He smiled as the familiar words brought him to a tent on the battlefield, this same woman facing him under much different circumstances.

"Yes, Lady Brienne?"

She gave him a small smile. "I'm glad to see you too."

And she vanished down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Game of Thrones in any way, although I wish I owned the good ship Braime.

 **Rating** : M for coarse language and reference to adult themes

 **Author's Note** : I know it has been too long since my last posting, I apologize! Thank you so much for all the reviews, your encouragement is so nice to hear!

* * *

 **~Chapter Three~**

In the days to come, they discovered that each of them had reached an unspoken agreement not to mention the words that had been said on Jaime's first night in Winterfell. The only references made were tactical— how would they mount a defense without the Lannister army? What would Cersei do while they were distracted by the wights? Could there be truth to her claim that Euron Greyjoy was bringing the Golden Company across the sea from Essos?

"Even if it is true, we can't afford to worry about it now." Jaime gazed out across the courtyard from his perch upon an abandoned wooden stool. "It will take time for the fleet to sail all the way there, collect the army, and get back to the south. Time none of us have." There was a rare bit of sunshine this afternoon, although the snow still fell unceasingly. He was still tired, not only physically, but there was that place within his spirit that felt a thousand years old. Gods, he felt the weight of each year of war as a fresh chain hanging upon him.

Brienne stood beside him, and from his seat, she looked even taller and more formidable than usual. They had both just gotten out of another council meeting with the queen. It still felt odd to think of a woman other than Cersei as the queen. A lot of things felt odd without her.

He had been surprised that the Targaryen girl ( _Queen Daenerys_ , he mentally corrected himself, in a voice that sounded a lot like Brienne's) had wanted him present, all things considered. He wasn't sure, if their positions had been reversed, that he would have offered such a courtesy. But he had Tyrion and Brienne to thank for that. For a lot of things.

"Lady Sansa has been ensuring that the grain stores are properly shored up, and that all the provinces of the North contribute their share. But most of them are struggling just to get by now that winter is here," Brienne said, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Never mind the grain stores, what are we going to do about men? We can't hope to face a hundred thousand of these creatures with our numbers, even if they are well-fed."

"As we were recently reminded, 'Sixty-two properly trained men can stand against a force ten times as large.'"

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at Brienne's words as he recalled a particularly barbed comment from little Lyanna Mormont earlier that morning. She had been most adamant that the men from Bear Island not be overlooked in their contributions to the North's defense.

" _Lady_ Mormont's tenacity is admirable," he said smilingly, emphasizing the title belonging to the small girl. "As is the dedication of her men. How is she getting on?"

Brienne had undertaken the task of training the women who wanted to fight. None was more serious than the young Mormont girl.

"She's making good progress. She hasn't had much in the way of formal training, but I don't think I've ever seen a fighter more determined to learn."

Brienne was smiling slightly.

"Oh, I think a young Brienne of Tarth could have given her a run for her money." Jaime grinned. "I can just imagine it— little Brienne, ten years old, already taller than all the boys, outside swinging her sword around while the other girls fawned over their dresses and dolls."

"Well you got it mostly right." She rolled her eyes.

"What did I get wrong?"

She paused. "I was eight when I started sword lessons."

Jaime laughed. "I have you beat. I was six."

"Yes, well, everyone wanted _you_ to be a knight. You're a man."

He looked down at himself, as if in surprise. "By the gods, you're right. I never noticed it until now."

"Oh, grow up."

"Never!"

She glared at him. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an idiot?"

"Just my loving brother." His smile faded abruptly. "And…"

The warmth of the sun, the warmth of Brienne's mocking, was swallowed up in the chill of memories of Cersei. This time though, a hot surge of anger burst through the sadness.

 _I always knew you were the stupidest Lannister._

The curve of her mouth, the hardness in her eyes— qualities that had used to make his blood boil with lust— now made his blood surge with hatred. The curve was no longer sensual, but a sneer wrapped around her words; the hardness in her eyes did not invite him into her embrace; it pushed him away. It had pushed him all the way up here.

But as he looked at Brienne, her face growing uncomfortable in his silence, he felt that perhaps he hadn't been running away, so much as running towards…something else.

Where Cersei's comment had been a weapon, a truth hurled in his face, Brienne's was nothing more than exasperation, the teasing of a friend.

She seemed to sense that the joke had lost its humor, and quickly changed the subject.

"So, about our defenses. I've been thinking that we need some sort of barricade around Winterfell, something layered that will stop each type of creature as it passes the threshold. Fire destroys some, Dragonglass others. The most powerful ones must be cut down with Valyrian Steel, and we know how precious little of that we have."

They both looked to the hilt of Brienne's sword, Oathkeeper, which was wrought from the ancient metal. She pulled the hilt up a few inches, making sure the blade was free in its scabbard. It was a comforting gesture, to both of them. Whatever confusions the rest of the world held, they both knew what was required in war.

"If we can eliminate the sheer number of the creatures that are able to get into the keep, we can concentrate on cutting down the most powerful, and focus our resources," he replied thoughtfully. "That still only protects Winterfell though. What about the rest of the North? How on earth can we stop them from flooding in all at once?"

Brienne turned to him with an eyebrow raised. "Have you so quickly forgotten about the queen's dragons?"

His brow lowered darkly. "No, I haven't." _I will never forget them for as long as I live_. Memories of charging Daenerys at the Battle of the Loot Train flooded his mind: their screeches of fury, the gusts created by their gargantuan wings, the searing heat of flame as it was angrily expelled. He had stared into the mouth of hell that day, and had been perfectly convinced it would swallow him.

After his arrival at Winterfell, Tyrion had informed him that the dragons were being kept in a neighboring valley, for their own safety as well as the people's. They had been raised in tropical locations, so Tyrion had feared that they might not endure the harsh winter very well, but their tough hides seemed to be keeping them warm enough. Tyrion had even offered to show Jaime where they stayed, at which point Jamie had emphatically declined. He couldn't fathom his little brother's fascination with such deadly creatures. Then again, Tyrion had never understood Jaime's fascination with his own dangerous liaison.

He mentally shook himself and realized that Brienne was staring at him inquisitively. "It's true, they do even the odds somewhat," he said quickly. "But as we know, they can be killed. And even dragon fire won't stop the most powerful Walkers."

Brienne sighed. "Well, it's a start."

Jaime scowled darkly.

"Yes, the beginning of the end."

"You don't have to sound quite so grim about it."

"Nevertheless, it's true." She looked as though she were about to interrupt. He forestalled her. "You're a warrior Brienne, and one of the best at that. But you've never led an army, never tried to mount an attack, never had to think of which lives are going to be cannon fodder and which are going to win the fight; which men you will send home to the warm embrace of their wives, and which bodies you will leave for carrion crows. Even with numbers ten, a hundred, a thousand times those we have now, we are still talking about an enemy that cannot die! What hope do we have against that? What hope do any of us have?" He sighed.

Brienne was silent for a few heartbeats, and then she spoke in a tone he didn't think he'd ever heard from her before. It was soft, approaching pity, but not pitying. It was almost— gentle disappointment.

"I was wondering if that Jaime Lannister was still in there. I thought your decision to come up here had finally banished him for good."

He looked sharply up at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked in a barbed voice.

"I mean the Jaime who wouldn't eat for days after his hand was cut off; who made light of Sansa Stark's imprisonment at King's Landing, the Jaime who whines and moans about things not going his way and never stops to think that he is not the only one in pain!"

Jaime had risen from his seat by this point, a buzzing growing in his ears as his temper flared.

"Have you not heard a word I've said? I'm trying to point out the obvious fact that all of us are going to die and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it!" He was pretty sure some heads were turning in their direction from across the yard, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"And _I'm_ saying that in the face of death there are things worth living for! A true knight does not let fear stop him from doing what is right!"

"I see, so now I'm not a true knight because I'm not stupid enough to think that a handful of hopeful men can defeat the largest force of _undead_ terrors this world has ever seen! If that's what it takes to be a _true knight_ ," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm glad no one has ever called me one. I'd rather be the Kingslayer and live, than be an optimistic simpleton and watch everyone I have left in this world die!"

"It is not simple to keep hope when reason says you must throw it away!" She snarled. "Everyone has to hold onto hope for something."

"Well I may just be a washed-up captain of the Kingsguard, but I do know that 'hope' can't wield a sword or hold a shield!"

"Well I know you didn't have a shred of hope when you returned to _that witch_ and she turned her back on you, after you'd followed her around for years, murdering in her name and spitting on your own principles because it seemed too hard to do otherwise!"

At the insult to Cersei, Jaime's hand had moved halfway to his sword grip before he realized what he was doing. He pulled it away slowly. There was thunder in his ears and blood singing through his veins as he glared at Brienne, her blue eyes piercing him with flames of ice.

"Too hard?" He hissed through gritted teeth. "'Too hard to do otherwise'? You think it was easy, do you, keeping faith in her, all the while murdering who she wanted me to, listening to her command me to kill my own brother, watching _our children_ suffer and die because she couldn't let go of the power, all for the hope that she still loved me, only to find that she no longer needed me, that she had solace in the throne, and when she was done with me, I barely had anything left inside of me?"

The words had flown from his lips as they came into his head. He had never told a single soul any of this, and yet it felt like some of the pressure behind his chest was easing as he let the words escape, the anger weaponizing them, pushing them out and into Brienne's face. And then the fight left him as he saw her face crumble, as she realized what she had said. He watched her face turn from anger to shock, to embarrassment, to something else— was it fear? — before he saw tears begin to well in her eyes and she turned abruptly from him, leaving him in the cold, pale light of a false summer day.


End file.
